Harry Redknapp has patented the type of hangdog expression that recalls Tony
Hancock at his most lugubrious.

Observing him on Monday at QPR’s spartan Harlington training base, in the shadow of the Heathrow flight path, an outsider would have struggled to tell if this was a football manager or a music-hall comedian who had been plying the circuit too long.

On a pristine New Year’s morning, Redknapp betrayed a world-weariness. He described the QPR fixture list as “daunting”, the January transfer market as “difficult”, and the club’s imperilled league position as “desperate”. A study in diplomatic language this emphatically was not. One wondered if the task of galvanising a squad of demoralised players, caught in a relegation tailspin was truly a job for a 65 year-old.

Redknapp has railed against the ordeal of the January window – or, to couch it in his customary Cockney honesty, that of “stupid agents trying to sell me rubbish players”. How exactly does he set about convincing anybody to join a sinking club with one win in 20? “You’re just looking for someone who is up for a challenge,” he shrugged. “That’s all you can do. 'Look, lads, come here and have a go.’ I took it on.”

It is a decision he could come to rue. Redknapp is of a vintage where he should be breathing in the ozone on Sandbanks beach, ready for 18 holes of golf in the Dorset winter sunshine. Even at Tottenham, he admitted to feeling fatigued from the endless commutes up and down the M3, sitting alone in his car as he waited for the training-ground gates to open. On a day out last summer at the Open Championship, he looked utterly carefree, finally unshackled from spending six hours a day staring at a slab of asphalt.

In private moments, he might reflect on how quickly his career has been recalibrated. On New Year’s Day 12 months ago, Spurs were third in the Premier League, six points off the lead, and Redknapp was a shoo-in to manage England. Instead, by boarding the good ship QPR, a violently listing vessel since the first week of the season, he has become typecast again as the grizzled escapologist.

Past experience in this role with Portsmouth, then at Spurs after the Juande Ramos debacle, has taught him not to be too optimistic.

Redknapp is desperate to augment the QPR squad – Ryan Nelsen, for example, was brought in as a fourth-choice centre-back, and has latterly been forced to play every game – but remains pessimistic about the prospects.

“Dealing with some of these chairmen, you know they are going to want their pound of flesh,” he said on Tuesday. “They see the position you are in. Not many clubs let players go at this stage and in our situation, they will look to hold you to ransom anyway. No one helps you in this game.”

Outwardly bluff, Redknapp is a figure of acute sensitivities. The ignominy of QPR’s first 25 minutes against Liverpool, when Luis Suárez rounded Clint Hill like a whippet passing a funeral horse, wounded the manager deeply. His teams have traditionally demonstrated, if nothing else, a certain pride through their resilience, so it was no surprise to hear him talk of Wednesday's visit to Chelsea as a chance to regain a measure of self-respect.

“We have to go and get a little bit of pride back, whatever else we do,” he said. “We need to make sure we’re in the game.”

He could not conceal a slight grimace, though, about facing an attack of Juan Mata, Eden Hazard and Fernando Torres. “Open yourselves up and you can get ripped apart, can’t you? Just like Villa did.”

One can understand Redknapp’s desire to conclude his career with a rousing encore. He never wanted his final act in management to be an undignified sacking by Daniel Levy, but it is doubtful whether his attempt to revive QPR’s collection of misfits and malcontents is the surest way to buttress his reputation.

While Jose Bosingwa is accused of laziness, and Shaun Wright-Phillips displays a level of toothlessness to disgrace a one-time England regular, Redknapp heads to Stamford Bridge on Wednesday with a covetous eye on former protege, Frank Lampard. For Lampard, his nephew, exemplifies every quality that he seeks from his charges, and that has perhaps been lost on Roman Abramovich: discipline, perfectionism, plus a quite ferocious work ethic.

“When all the other kids had gone home, Frank would be practising every day,” Redknapp said of their days working together at West Ham’s academy. “He would spend hours out there, going through his sprints, his shooting, hitting shots with his right foot, his left foot, volleying, you name it. He’s the best trainer I’ve ever seen. Nobody else comes close.”

And for the first time, Redknapp’s furrowed features softened into a smile, as if he had suddenly remembered better days.